


Escape Route

by allegheny



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: 2018 World Series, Angst, Boston Red Sox, Character Study, Closeted Character, Drunkenness, Gen, M/M, Rejection, unrequited advances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/pseuds/allegheny
Summary: It was a rumour, but it soon became trueHe was drunk in the suburbs with a boy from a different schoolTechnically, Rick doesn't remember any of this.





	Escape Route

Technically, Rick doesn't remember any of this. 

He remembers the final out, and the televised celebration, and holding the trophy, and all that shit. He remembers being doused in champagne and beer several times over. After they start throwing people in the tub of ice, things get hazy.  
Technically, he doesn't remember stripping down and jumping in, nor trying to get everyone to shower together. He just has a massive bruise on his asscheek and a bunch of snarky text messages to show for it. 

So he doesn't technically remember pulling Sale into the hallway and starting to kiss his exposed neck. Doesn't really remember how nice Sale smelt, like sweat and alcohol and victory. How his skin tasted of deodorant and champagne. How right and great and beautiful it felt to grip at his hips, fingers grappling at the masculine roughness of the jutting bone, and the stubble scratching at his temples, and Sale all angles and coarseness, just there, sharp and solid and male, making Rick's heart pound into his wrists. 

There's nothing quite like touching another man, and Rick is almost 30, and he's tired of trying, and he's tired of pretending, and he's tired of knowing he'll never have this, and he's drunk, and he's happy, and everything is perfect and nothing is wrong and nothing hurts and he has it all and everything is allowed even loving the bodies he loves and the minds he loves and the people he loves and everything is good and true and free. 

And he'll take it, if it's free. 

And it's not even about Sale at all, it's about Rick, and it's about men, and it's about how he hasn't done anything with one for so long he can barely tell, it's about how much that hurts, and it's about how terribly unafraid he is right now, and Sale's just in the right place at the right time, and Rick is craving and longing and nothing else.  
So he doesn't remember kissing Sale's neck, hungry and unashamed, and eager and ready to latch onto this, endless joy springing into his chest, the pure feeling of it coursing through his veins like a drug.

He doesn't remember the heavy touch of Chris's hand on his shoulder, pushing him off, gentle but firm. 

"Rick, what are you doing?" The soft, low voice sends ripples through Ricks whole body. He wants it, he loves it, he needs it, he wants to press his fingers against Chris's vocal cords and shiver with the vibrations. He's not paying much attention to what Chris is saying. He wants to kiss, wants to bite, wants to taste a man again, god it's been so long, god knows he deserves this - "Rick, come on. Come on, man. Rick... No."

Chris holds him by his shoulders, at arm's length. Mild, resolute. Much more sober than Rick. 

"I'm sorry, man." And he sounds sorry. "I know this gotta be hard for you."

It is hard! It's so, so hard! Rick wants to yell. I don't want to do it anymore! I need this, please, please, please. I'm allowed this. I deserve this. 

"I got a wife that I love, Rick. And I got kids and I love them. And I'm not - I'm not that way. I'm sorry. I'm sure... You ain't gonna remember this anyway but it's fine, Rick. You're my friend. Just, nothing more."

And Chris is right. Rick doesn't remember. 

He turns 30 weeks later, and he lies in bed after his parents and family and all his friends are gone, leaving cake, gifts, confetti, and a hand drawn sign about the championship. 

Everything is the way it’s always been. He’s alone in his empty house, the dog curled up at his feet. 

And he doesn’t quite understand why he cries himself to sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Rick's never had a long-term girlfriend. That's all I'll say about this
> 
> Another SAD short fic about the aftermath of the World Series win


End file.
